Ordinary is Best
by im a monster calling
Summary: Henry and Ben Galesworth live boring, ordinary lives with their boring, ordinary family. Things become extraordinary, however, when he and his brother look into Malice, a comic just for children. Eager to escape their lives, Henry and Ben perform the ritual, looking for another chance. But when Tall Jake takes them away, they learn that sometimes ordinary is best.
1. Chapter 1

**So, yeah. This is my first fanfiction, so please try not to eat me alive. This chapter will probably be the most boring thing under the sun, but we have to get through it. Bear with me.**

**Oh, yes: I don't come from the UK, so don't expect any of the proper slangs that the Galesworth boys would use. I don't know them.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Chris Wooding. I do not own Malice or Havoc or any other pieces of his work. I also do not own the characters Henry and Ben, or their mother (however, for my purposes, I named her). All the OCs in this story I own, though. No copyright infringement intended.  
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The fish-stick sandwich sat, unappetizing, in front of Henry Galesworth. He stared at it, a few large bites taken from it already. He could see the ragged edges where his teeth had cut through the whole-grain bread. His gaze drifted around the table; his brother, Ben, to his right; his mother, Sarah, across from him; her new boyfriend, Paul, positioned next to him. He was glad for the dark wood table that separated him from the rest of them.

"Henry," said Sarah. She was middle-aged and overweight, short in stature. Her brown hair, long and lanky, had an unflattering center part. Her muddy brown gaze was fixed on her youngest son.

"Yes?" he inquired, only pretending to care.

"Eat your sandwich."

Henry grudgingly obliged, picking up his sandwich and taking another bite. He forced himself not to make a face, but he seemed to shrink away from his meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ben snicker silently. The sandwich tasted terrible. It was slathered with tomato sauce and Henry could no longer taste the fish. Disgusting.

"Don't make faces, Henry," Sarah said, her voice a monotone. He watched her take another bite of her sandwich. Paul did, too.

_Poor guy_, Henry thought bitterly,_ stuck having to eat those God-awful sandwiches_. He took another unhappy bite, rolling the pieces of food around over his tongue before forcing himself to swallow. He imagined that he could feel it sliding down his esophagus and falling into his stomach. It didn't make him feel any better.

The family ate in silence. The only sound was them chewing, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock that rested near the kitchen door. Usually, when Paul wasn't there, Ben and his mother would talk about everything under the sun, but they never drifted far away from Ben's sports teams. Ben, unlike Henry, was deeply involved in his school's extra-curricular activities, making most of their teams. Hockey, soccer, anything that they held try-outs for, Ben aced. Henry, however, was terribly clumsy, seemingly unable to save any passes at all. Sometimes he wondered if he and Ben were actually related. They didn't even look alike, Henry possessing his mother's looks, whereas Ben had the pale brown hair of their father, shining hazel eyes to accompany it.

Tonight, however, they didn't speak. When Paul and Sarah had finished, she spared her sons a glance. "You two finish up, okay? We'll be out." Wherever 'out' was, they didn't specify.

The adults exited the room and soon Henry heard the door swing shut. He violently pushed himself away from the table and Ben looked up. He looked amused. "Going somewhere?" he inquired, pushing himself slowly away from the table, too, and standing.

Henry took an impatient breath. "You know where. It's Wednesday. A new comic came out." The image of the hairless comic-seller flashed behind his eyelids when he blinked. He resisted a shudder.

Ben smiled, reaching for his brother's half-filled plate. "You go get it. I'll put the dishes away."

"Dispose of the sandwiches. You know mum will check to see if we ate them." Henry despised when his mother did that. They weren't children; they could decide when they ate enough of the disgusting fish-stick sandwiches on their own.

The older boy nodded, disappearing into the kitchen with the plates. Henry turned, dashing out of the room and up the stairs, taking the steps two, sometimes three at a time. On the landing, he turned to the left and pushed his way into his room.

It looked like any other boy's room, Henry figured. The walls were a pale blue – _powder blue_, as Sarah would have described it – with a bed at the far wall, pressed against the window. White curtains fell in front of the windowpane, blocking his view of the street. It was a boring street, showing a small, boring park across from their house. It had no playground, no trees, no nothing. All there was were a few benches and pointless concrete paths weaving through the far too long grass. Posters were taped to the walls of his room, movies stars, sport stars, things like that decorating the shiny papers. A dresser made of pale wood was pressed against the wall, and opposite it rested his desk, devoid of any papers.

Henry crossed over to the desk, rifling through the drawers in its side, pushing aside papers and empty folders until he found it. His fingers brushed across the black wax paper, his gaze glued to an elaborate emblem in red that decorated the cover. An M, surrounded by a hexagon, was in the center. M. Malice.

"Are we going to read or just stand here?" a voice asked, sounding impatient.

Henry's head whipped around and he glared at Ben for a second. "I was getting the comic," he explained, standing up. He held out the copy of Malice for his brother's inspection.

Ben nodded, pulling the comic out of Henry's hand. He strode over to the bed, sitting down on the blue comforter. He broke the seal, gently wiggling the real comic out of its case. On the cover was a boy, mouth open wide, screaming. The word Malice was stretched across the paper like the tip of a claw. Ben smiled, shooting Henry a look.

The boys sat side-by-side, their gazes fixed on the panels of the comic. There was a boy wandering through a dark room, a sphere of light in his hands. His eyes were filled with fear, the pupils wide and searching for light. He was alone, wandering through a chamber. A waterway split the chamber in half, swirling around a pedestal that sported a women's legs, cut off at the shins. Massive blocks had fallen and lay about like boulders, and mixed in among them were unbelievable creatures called gnawls. They were seven feet long and they had long bodies and round sucker pads on each of their toes. Their tails were overlapping, scaly plates that rattled. They reminded Henry of a rattle-snake's tail. Bones lay, abandoned, around the room. The boy moved slowly across the stone floor, and, as he passed through an arch at the other side of the chamber, the picture changed.

Henry and Ben sat there for a long time, pouring over the images that danced across the pages. Suddenly, Henry looked up at his brother, a mischievous smile spread across his face. "Let's say the words."

Ben looked up from the comic, eyes wide. "Are you crazy? No way, I'm not saying those!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Come on. I know it's not real, you know it's not real… Those aren't real kids in there, Ben. Don't be daft."

But his brother shook his head. "I'm not saying the words."

"Fine," the thirteen year old grumbled, "but you're being stupid. Nothing's going to happen. I'll

Henry stood, striding over to the desk again. He could feel Ben's gaze on him. Chicken, he mumbled mentally as he opened a drawer, pulling out a bag. He turned, tossing the bag to the pale-haired boy who opened it, listening to the sound of the seal on the Ziploc bag breaking. He emptied the contents of the bag on the floor: a black feather, a twig, cat fur and a tear. Ben blinked at him, looking alarmed. "When… when'd you get the time to collect all this?"

Henry smiled. "I've been thinking about it since the last comic came out." He made his way to the door. "Can you get the bowl? I'm getting mum's lighter."

He left quickly before Ben could object and made his way down the hall. Ben was following him, and then, as Henry continued on, made a turn and thundered down the stairs. At the end of the hall was his mother's room. He pushed open the door, painted white, and heard it creek. He stepped inside. The room smelled heavily of smoke and long red curtains forbid the light from spilling into the space. A bed rested in the middle, the headboard pressed against a pale wall. On his mother's dresser sat a packet of cigarettes and her lighter. Henry could see them from across the room.

Striding over to the dresser, Henry snatched up the lighter. He felt it in his hand, the smooth surface resting perfectly in his palm. He hoped that this wasn't a sign that he would end up a smoker, too. He turned, crossing the room and closing the creaking door behind him. He made his way over to his room, thinking, _Ben and I are going to do the ritual. We're finally escaping this boring life_. He refused to acknowledge the 'what if's. What if Malice wasn't real? What if Tall Jake didn't take them? He exiled those thoughts to the back of his mind as he pushed his door open, closing it behind him.

Ben was sitting on the floor, legs crossed like they always had you do when you were just starting school. The bowl sat before him, a metal mixing bowl. The objects for the ritual rested beside it. Henry shuffled over to the desk, grabbing a pair of scissors, and then sat down opposite his brother.

"The order's important," Henry told him, as if to a small child. "First the black feather, then the twig, then the cat fur, and then the tear." As he spoke, he dumped each objects into the bowl. Ben watched him, pretending to be uninterested, but Henry knew his brother well enough to know that he was really quite intrigued.

He held up the scissors, grabbing a bit of his hair. He clipped off some of it, letting it fall through his fingers and into the bowl. He held out the scissors to Ben, who hesitated. He was thinking, Henry knew. He was thinking about telling him that he was crazy, that it would never work. That he could perform the ritual alone if he was that serious about it. But he didn't. Ben accepted the scissors and clipped a bit off of his already-short hair.

Henry grinned. He'd won. He never won, but he did now. He held the lighter down to the cat hair, watching Ben. His brother wore a grim expression, as if regretting already what he'd done. Henry watched sparks fly from the lighter, catching on the cat hair. It shrivelled, shrinking in on itself. He knew that they had to say the words before the fire died.

Ben sighed, and in unison the boys said, "Tall Jake, take me away."

They were doing it. They were going to get out of their boring lives on their boring street in their boring neighbour in boring old Kettering.

"Tall Jake, take me away."

They'd be going somewhere _new_. Somewhere _exciting_. Somewhere that wasn't _here_.

"Tall Jake, take me away."

There wouldn't be any Sarah to tell them what to do. No parents making the rules. Only kids, teenagers like them.

"Tall Jake, take me away."

Henry heard his voice rising in excitement. He found himself actually _wanting_ to go to Malice. But when he looked to Ben to see if his brother shared his euphoria, he could see the other boy staring at the fire with wide eyes, looking like he was going to be sick.

"Tall Jake, take me away."

One more time, and then it would be done. One more time and then Tall Jake would take them away. But he would take them to Malice. Henry knew from the comics that Malice ate kids like him alive. It was filled with unimaginable dangers. Suddenly boring old Kettering didn't seem so bad.

The words, "Tall Jake, take me away," slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

They waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. The boys let out a collective sigh and Ben shot Henry a look. They burst into laughter and Henry heard relief sounding in his laugh. They had been so foolish to believe even for a moment that Tall Jake would actually take them away.

And then the lights went out.

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**So, yeah. My fanfiction debut. Hoorah.**

**I'll probably have the second chapter up some time within the next two weeks, but that could just be me being overly ambitious or something. So, don't expect anything fantastic. This actually turned out much longer than average for me. This may never happen again. I have so little faith.**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, yeah, the second chapter. This chapter was way longer than I assumed it would be. It's a bit slow at the beginning, I've been told. Sorry about that.**

**Disclaimer: I am not Chris Wooding. I do not own Malice or Havoc or any other pieces of his work. I do not own the characters Henry and Ben, though I do own all OCs in this story. No copyright infringement intended.**

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Ben's head hurt.

He peeled his eyes open, glancing around the room once without actually seeing anything. He could hear a low rumble that shook the earth slightly beneath his feet, but that gave him no clues to where he was. As his eyes came into focus, he got a good look at his surroundings. He was on a train, which explained the rumbling and the tremors that shook the floor. However, this train didn't look like any of the trains back in England. This one was empty with the exception of him and Henry, who rested on a bench opposite of him. The benches were formed from coiled metals, though they were surprisingly comfortable.

Lights glowed dimly in cages overhead, giving off just enough illumination for Ben to see. Natural light poured through porthole-windows, metal bars crossing over the glass. The light was sombre, murky sort of, and mixed uneasily with the lights inside the cages. Ben peered out the window across from him and saw something he never expected: a valley stretching out around the train. In the distance he could see a city, smoke rising in billowing clouds from chimneys. Closer, he saw a labyrinth, a clustering of gravestones and mausoleums next to it: a grand cemetery. They were zooming towards the cemetery at an alarming speed. If there was any doubt in his mind that they were in Malice, it was gone now.

Ben stood shakily, holding onto the armrest on his bench for support. He made his way across the narrow aisle to Henry's bench, stumbling into the seat and waking Henry with a gasp. His younger brother looked around the train for a few moments, struggling to figure out where they were. When the realization hit, Henry swore.

Ben didn't say anything, waiting for a few moments. Finally, leaning forward and propping himself up with his hands on his knees, he said, "'Those aren't real kids in there, Ben.'"

Henry responded with a glare that Ben didn't think he exactly deserved. Henry had gotten them into the mess but he couldn't handle being called on it. Henry opened his mouth, no doubt to say something sullen and grouchy, but the train lurched to a stop. A door that Ben hadn't noticed before hissed open, steam billowing around the edges. It opened upward, more like a hatch than a door. A boy got on the train, looking thin and pale. He was squinting. A figure appeared, like a ghost. "Ticket, please," the ghost-thing said, and the boy passed him a piece of black paper.

"The Terminus," the boy stated and the ghost disappeared.

The boy made his way to the bench where Ben had been sitting, looking at his shoes and not saying anything. Ben turned back to Henry, not wanting to continue their conversation with the strange boy in within hearing range. Ben was aware of the silence, feeling it come crushing down on them. He took these many minutes in the dimly-lit train to think. Henry might have thought that it was a good thing to be in Malice, but Ben certainly did not. How was it even possible, anyway? If it was a real world, how was it also a comic? How did they get there? Ben understood that Tall Jake took them away, but how? How did the place even exist? Was it bigger than it was in the comic? Was it some kind of alternate universe co-existing with their own?

The train shot down the track, the overhead lights rattling loudly. Ben was glad for the white noise. It didn't seem as awkward that way. They sat in the uncomfortable silence for many more minutes, none of them saying anything. There wasn't really anything to say, was there? _Hey, how's it going? Didn't die wherever you were last? Give it a little while longer._ Like that would go over well.

The train lurched again and Ben knew that they had reached a station. He stood immediately, determined that he was getting off no matter what. Even if Henry didn't come with him, he wasn't going to wait in the silence for God-knew-what. Henry looked bewildered, but stood, too. The hatch opened and Ben excited quickly, followed by Henry. As soon as they stepped off the train, it zipped away.

There was a station, columns climbing into the air and holding up nothing. Attached to one of the columns rested a clock. Dirt was smeared across the surface, making it hard to read the time. Cracked stone paths weaved around columns and gravestones. The graves came in all different shapes and sizes, some towering above others and some only headstones. Occasionally, a coffin popped into existence between the graves.

Henry exhaled slowly and Ben knew exactly what his brother was thinking: what had they gotten themselves into?

"The Necropolis," Ben announced, looking around. He was waiting to see what would pop out at them. It was rare that anyone ever ventured to the Necropolis, and now he understood why.

The sky, sorrowful as always, seemed even gloomier in this area. Everything seemed bleached of colour with the exception of dark green vines that climbed some of the columns. Even the grass was dying. The stones were all grey, whether new and dark or old and sun-bleached, it depended. Words in various different letters and symbols were etched into the stones. Some, Ben figured, were phonetic symbols. Every once in a while he thought he recognized an English word, but it was impossible to tell. Grass sprouted in cracks between the stones. Long, dark shadows were cast upon the graveyard by the columns and graves. Ben ventured forward, past the station and into the Necropolis itself. Odd birds, sort of like crows, circled above, hiding among grey clouds. The gravestones and pathways stopped, forming a circle around a great mausoleum; the focal point of the Necropolis.

The mausoleum was like a pinnacle, standing tall and proud while being surrounded by dried tangles of bushes. It was made of pale stones, roofed with slate shingles. Gargoyles perched along the edges of the roof, staring outward with hard glares. There were no windows, and the only entrance was through a large set of stone doors. More gargoyles guarded the entrance. Behind the mausoleum was an obelisk, more foreign letters engraved in the dark stone. Ben wanted desperately to find out what they said.

"Ben," Henry said loudly, startling the boy out of his reverie. "Ben, you shouldn't go in there."

Ben waved away Henry's worries. "We'll be fine," he said. "Nothing bad will happen."

Henry muttered something under his breath, but didn't argue. Ben heard their shoes hit the ground as they walked toward the mausoleum. As they approached the door, Ben felt coldness trail down his spine, like icy fingers dancing down his vertebrae. As he walked, he thought he could see the gargoyles' eyes following him. Ben stopped at the door, pressing his palms against the cold stone. There, next to the mausoleum, the air was frigid.

Ben pushed open the doors, grunting slightly. They were heavier than they looked. The inside didn't seem much like a mausoleum, though Ben didn't really know what their insides were supposed to look like. It was a tangle of hallways, illuminated slightly by thin candles placed at irregular intervals along the walls. Everything was stone, with the exception of the little furniture there was and the rafters that stretched across the ceiling and formed complicated walkways. Ben stepped inside, listening to the echo of his feet hitting the ground as it bounced off the walls.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Henry asked loudly, earning himself his own echo.

"Shut up, Henry," Ben commanded, making his way down a long hallway.

Henry fell silent in response, not drifting far away from his brother. The two boys made their way down a hallway, taking right corners. There was no other option, no left corner. Ben's gaze swept over everything in sight, and occasionally he stopped. He had no interest in remaining in the Necropolis, and he knew that they needed to find two black tickets to get them out. Now the problem was finding the tickets. Two white tickets would be best.

"What're you looking for?" Henry inquired, peering over Ben's shoulder as he shifted a pile of wood.

"A way out," was all he said.

"Why? We just got here."

Ben sighed, standing up. There was no ticket there. "Don't be daft. It's the Necropolis. You don't actually want to _stay_ here, do you?"

Henry shook his head, "No way. I just don't want to… linger. Who knows what could pop up around here?"

They started their walk down the hallway again, not coming across any other living soul as they searched for tickets. A half hour or so passed this way, the two boys combing through every little thing in search of the tickets. Any ticket would work, Ben figured. White tickets would be much harder to find and would probably involve a lot more danger. Though he was still angry at Henry for getting them into such a mess, he wouldn't have him getting hurt. As long as he was the oldest, he was in charge.

When they reached the hour mark – _an hour in Malice and neither of us has died_, Ben thought with glee – they had found their first ticket. Black, only good to get them out of the Necropolis itself. The ticket was hidden in a crack in one of the stones. Henry had gotten hopeful and was searching every crack he saw in the stone bricks. Ben was leaving him behind.

"Hey, Ben," Henry called. When Ben turned, he saw his brother stretching upward, fingers grazing a crack. "I think I've found something here."

Ben made his way back down the hall, standing next to Henry and examining the stone. "I don't think there's anything there."

"How would you-"

Henry was interrupted by a sharp scream. It echoed through the hall, bouncing off the bare walls, making it sound worse than it was. It was a girl's scream; that was for sure. Ben hurried forward, toward the sound, while Henry backed away. Ben wasn't surprised by the other boy's response; he had expected it. It was just… Henry.

The girl screamed again and Ben rounded a corner. The whole hallway opened up into a single large room. It was dark in this room, darker than the halls, with only a single candle lit. Bookshelves were lined against one of the walls, a single chair positioned in the center of the room. Ben could barely make out the shape, darkness against even more darkness. A girl darted around the room, mouth open. She was facing a tall creature, towering above her. It was translucent and humanoid, a round midsection and head perched on what Ben assumed were its shoulders. It was see-through in a ghostly way, so that Ben could see what was on the other side of it. Its skin was grey, black and white and was mottled over its arms and legs. Its face was covered in black and white markings similar to those of a racoon.

The ghost-thing laughed and its form flickered. Now it looked human, but with flesh torn from its limbs, exposing gleaming white bone. Out of its back spiked various metal poles, like a porcupine's quills. Constantly its shape changed, morphing from one thing to another and back again. At one point, it pulled out one of the poles that protruded from its back and swung it toward the girl.

In response, the girl rolled to the side. Ben wanted to see what she looked like, but he could barely make her out in the darkness. As Ben watched, he noticed a pattern. Whenever the ghost-thing came close to her, she would dance away. When the pipe whizzed toward her, she ducked forward and dived toward the ghost, retreating as soon as it had passed. She was panting, looking exhausted. Ben wondered how long she had been fighting and how he and Henry hadn't heard anything in the echoing halls. Ben shifted his weight, his shoe tapping slightly on the ground.

The girl heard it and looked up, wide eyed. "What do you think you're doing, just standing there?" she demanded, ducking as the ghost-thing swung the pipe again. Ben tried to stammer out a response, but the girl interrupted him. "Come help me!" She had an accent, something that he couldn't identify. Something about the way she said her words… "What're you waiting for?"

Her voice broke Ben out of his reverie and he made his way into the room. The pipe was swung again and it almost hit him in the face. "What do you want me to do?" he called to the girl.

"Light the candles, genius," the girl snapped, following the evasive pattern that Ben had noticed, "and quick!"

Ben nodded, searching the darkness for candles. When he found one, he hurried over to it. It was on a shelf, smooth wood holding it in the air. There was nothing that he could use to light it. "How do I-"

"The shelf below it," the girl panted, slowly turning their bodies so that the ghost-thing had its back to Ben. "There're matches there."

Ben followed her instructions, his hands finding a box in the darkness. He pulled it out, examining it and finding that it was the matches that she told him would be there. He smiled slightly. Things were kind of going well. He pulled out a match, striking it on the side of a box and lighting a candle. The room was just a bit brighter. "How many-"

"There're five other candles in this room," the girl interrupted, seemingly able to read his mind. "Light them all and fast."

Ben obliged, searching for each of the candles. For each one he found, he lit a new match. Each time a candle was lit, it was just a bit easier to find the others. When the ghost-thing caught onto their plan – it wasn't a very bright ghost-thing, Ben guessed – his attacks grew harder and stronger. Ben could tell that it had just been trying to wear the girl out before. Now it was fighting.

Just as Ben found the last candle, he heard a sharp cry of pain. The pipe had connected with the girl's side, knocking her to the ground. The ghost-thing approached her, raising the pipe to strike her again. Ben wanted to help, but he knew that he had to light the last candle. He could see the ghost becoming more and more translucent, nearly transparent. It was disappearing. Ben struck the last match as the pipe came down. He heard the sound of metal against stone, and so he guessed that the girl had rolled out of the way.

The room was lit and Ben turned, watching as the ghost-thing slowly disappeared, turning transparent before it vanished completely. Ben looked over to the girl, who was struggling to get to her feet. In the light Ben could see her properly. Her skin was lightly tanned, like she had been lying out in the sun. Her hair was blonde and pulled into two messy braids that hung down to just past her shoulders. Her eyes were blue, bits of grey mottling the iris. She frowned at him and Ben realized that he was staring. He blinked a few times, searching for something to say. It turned out that he didn't have to.

"Thanks for lighting the candles. Can you help me search? I'm kind of… injured." She gestured at her side, where the pipe had hit her. Had she broken a rib?

"Search..?"

She sighed, "For a ticket. Black, white, whatever works."

Ben nodded. "I will, but I kind of need to do something first."

Again, he didn't need to. Henry stumbled into the room, looking around frantically. "Ben," he said urgently when he saw his brother. "Ben, we've got to get out of here."

Ben frowned. "Why?"

The girl answered, "The monsters. The Necropolis isn't empty, you know. What we just killed, it was the big boss. Now all the other monsters are going to come out."

"Who's she?" Henry asked, as if that was the first time he noticed the girl.

She laughed, "No one of consequence," and resumed searching for the tickets.

Ben explained quickly to Henry what had happened while the younger boy had been off searching for a way out. When he had finished, all three of them were looking for a ticket. Henry found a black one and presented it to the girl.

Let's get out of here now," she suggested, taking the ticket. "We should be able to find a final ticket in the graveyard. It won't be a white one, mind you." She made her way slowly to the exit of the room, expecting Ben and Henry to follow. They did after shooting each other a few doubtful glances.

The girl led them through the hallways, following the left turns along the way. Ben got the impression that it was just narrow hallway coiled around a single room. He must have been right, for soon they were at the entrance. The girl pushed open the door and froze in her tracks. Before them, undead creatures roamed through the graveyard, weaving around the gravestones and columns. Ben saw various ghastly creatures, flesh torn off their arms and legs. Weapons protruded from their bodies, as if they had been in battle and everything that struck them stayed embedded there. Everything around them was undead, groaning and moaning as they dragged themselves around. There was no clear path back to the station.

"Oh s***."

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**In respect to the appearance of the Necropolis and the monsters that inhabit it, those are all made up. I have no idea if the monsters actually exist in this world (I highly doubt that the kind I've made up do), and I really don't know what the Necropolis looks like. It's a gift and curse using a setting that never really shows up in the books. So, yeah, sorry 'bout that and stuff.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, God… So, I've finally finished the third chapter! Yay for me! I'm so, so sorry about not updating this story, but I went on vacation and then procrastinated, so I'm really surprised that I got done. I wrote three thousand words today alone. You should all be proud of me. So, without further ado, the story (and the disclaimer)!**

**Disclaimer: I am not Chris Wooding. I do not own Malice or Havoc or any other pieces of his work. I do not own the characters Henry and Ben, though I do own all OCs in this story. No copyright infringement intended.**

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When Henry saw the undead creatures, his heart fell. He could see Ben out of his peripheral vision and guessed from his wide eyes that the other boy shared his response. His expression clearly said _we are screwed_, and Henry figured that those few words just about summed up his feelings about their situation perfectly. On his other side the girl stood tense and ready, her blue eyes scanning the graveyard as if she was already planning out their attack. She didn't seemed bothered all too much by the appearance of the creatures and she bounced almost eagerly from foot to foot, wincing with each movement.

Henry looked back out at the monsters – zombies? – and took a breath. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run in the opposite direction, but his feet felt cemented into the ground. Was he the only one feeling this way? Did the others feel panic gripping their bodies like a cold fist of ice? The girl was unfazed and Ben stood, facing the monsters with an expression of stubborn determination on his face. Henry frowned deeply. Aren't they scared? he wondered, nervous that he was the only one who was terrified by what he saw before him. It made him feel cowardly, which was a feeling that he did not like one bit.

The trio stood in relative silence for a moment; the only sound the moans of the undead. Finally, Ben asked, "So, now what?"

"We kill them," the girl responded simply, as if it was the obvious thing to do.

"All of them?" Ben asked for clarification, eyebrows rising. His voice shook for a second when he spoke, which came as both a relief and worry to Henry. He was relieved that he wasn't alone in his fear, but worried that Ben's unease would make it hard for his brother to fight the monsters.

The girl shook her head. "Only what we need to escape. If we can get to the station, we should be fine. But we also have to find a ticket somewhere in there, too, which could be a problem. We don't know where they are."

Ben frowned, his gaze searching the graveyard as if he was already looking for that one last ticket. Henry watched him, wondering how his brother did it. How did he stay calm like that? Henry was so frightened that he was convinced his knees were shaking, though every time he looked down to check, they weren't. Ben spoke, breaking through Henry's thoughts as he said, "We need weapons."

"That is the understatement of the year," Henry mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Where were they going to get weapons? They monsters didn't just happen to have a stash of guns in the mausoleum, did they? No. He highly doubted that they did.

His companions ignored him and Henry sighed. It was almost as if he wasn't there. He wished that he wasn't there. He couldn't fight a zombie hoard! He was just a kid! How could Ben and the girl expect him to do that? But he didn't voice any of his fears, not wanting to seem weak. Everyone was silent, thinking. The moans rumbled through the air in a monotone, the only sounds they heard. Suddenly the girl spun on her heel, walking quickly back toward the mausoleum. She slipped through the crack between the heavy stone doors and called over her shoulder, "I'll be back in a second!"

Ben watched her leave and Henry watched the hoard. The hoard moved slowly, the zombies dragging themselves back and forth across the mostly-dead grass. They could smell him and Ben, but they couldn't locate them. It was as if a barrier stood between the zombies and the boys. He wondered how that worked. The station seemed clear, too, as if another invisible wall protected the other side of the graveyard. The zombies moaned into the still air. No breeze drifted over the earth, and for that Henry was grateful. He didn't want to catch a whiff of the fetid odor that rose from their rotting flesh.

"Grab a weapon," the girl's voice advised and Henry tore his gaze away from the hoard. The girl held three objects in her hands; a shovel, a wooden plank and what looked like a kitchen knife. "I've already claimed the shovel, so have fun with what you get."

Ben reached forward, snatching the knife from her grip. "Mine," he declared possessively, his fist closing over the handle.

"I guess I get the board," Henry sighed, reluctantly taking the plank from the girl. One of the edges was chipped, as if it had been yanked off of something. The wood underneath the surface was paler in colour than the outer layer, and the texture of the board suggested that it had been stained. A nail protruded from one edge of the plank, the metal slightly rusted as if it had been left outside in the rain.

The girl gripped her shovel, holding it like it was a sword. "Here's how this is going to go down: I'm going in first. You-" she gestured at Ben "-what did you say your name was?"

"Ben," he said. "My brother is Henry."

"Okay. Not important." The girl waved away the last part like it was an annoying fly buzzing in her ear. "Ben, you follow me. Look for tickets and grab whatever you can find. Henry, you come down last. Cover our asses. That's your only job."

Without waiting for a nod of assent from either of them, the girl walked away from the mausoleum and into the hoard, brandishing her shovel. The monsters scented her and their moans grew in volume. They could smell the blood running through her veins and were determined to find her and kill her. One approached her but she quickly bashed it in the face with the flattest part of her shovel. The zombie stumbled backwards, its arms reaching for her even as it was beaten back. Its twisted, broken fingers grazed her forearms and she flinched. She swung the board again, smashing it in the face in an attempt to get it away from her, but to no avail: the zombie kept coming.

"A little help here?" the girl asked, looking back at them over her shoulder for a split second before turning her attention back to the monster.

Ben nodded, wading into the growing throng. He jabbed outward at the zombie, earning him a glare from the girl that clearly asked, _what do you think you're doing?_ Ben promptly but jerkily sliced into the zombie's neck and Henry thought he could hear the crunch of its spine as it was severed by the blade. Ben yanked the knife out of the creature's neck, turning away. "Let's keep going," he suggested, looking around again. Henry still wasn't exactly sure what he was searching for. A ticket? That seemed the most plausible.

"Okay," the girl agreed, holding her shovel outward to ward off the approaching zombies. Already new ones were upon her, inching forward as they dragged themselves across the field. She swung at another zombie, the blade slicing into its neck and decapitating him. She examined her work for a second before looking up at Ben. "How'd you figure out that cutting of their heads would kill them?"

Ben replied with a grunt as he sliced at another monster, "Well, they're pretty much zombies. You cut off a zombie's head, they die. It was pretty straightforward."

The pair fell into silence, surveying the area and beating away at any zombie that dared come near. They were oddly slow in reaching Ben and the girl, Henry mused. "Hey, Henry," Ben said, stabbing into a zombie as it scrabbled for his arm. "Come and help, will you? No use just standing around."

Henry blinked, making a startled sound instead of forming a response. He forced his feet to move and he crossed slowly, reluctantly, through that invisible barrier that protected him from the zombies. Just stepping away from the mausoleum caused his heart to thump in his chest, pushing adrenaline and panic into his system. He hated how his palms felt warm and clammy with a mixture of nervousness and fear. He hated how all he wanted to do was run and run and run away.

"Henry, are you listening to a single thing I'm saying?" Henry snapped to attention at Ben's sharply delivered words.

"Huh?" he frowned at his brother, gripping his board tighter in preparation for the worst. "Were you saying something?"

The girl made an irritated sound, slicing at a zombie. Some moved faster than others, Henry observed, which was contrary to what he had thought. Either way, he still didn't want to fight one of those. "At least try to pay attention, will you? This isn't some video game. This is life or death."

Henry glared at her. He didn't like how she talked to him like he didn't know how dire the situation was. That's what freaked him out. He hadn't signed up for something like that. He hadn't signed up to battle a field of zombies. He had signed up for a parent-free life. This was not what he wanted. At all.

Ben shot the girl a glance. "Take it easy on him," he advised, letting out a slight grunt as he chopped through another zombie's neck. "It's not every day you run into a hoard of zombies."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Well, it'd do him best to get used to it. Everything that happens here in Malice wouldn't happen _any_ day anywhere else."

Henry sighed, no longer listening to their argument. He hung back, as far away from the zombies as he could get without hiding in the protection of the barrier. He gripped his board tightly, his fingers cramping from the pressure he applied to the wood. He was looking around for tickets when his gaze focused on a zombie that was lumbering ungracefully towards him. Henry thrust out the board, but the zombie was still too far away for it to be affective in any way. He could see its features clearly as it approached; the wrinkled and mottled grey skin, the ragged holes in its flesh formed by decay, all of the weapons protruding from its arms and legs and torso and neck and head and how on earth could it still be walking with all of that damage done to it? Henry didn't understand how it could still be chasing after him when it already had so many wounds.

_That's why they're called the_ undead, _stupid._

The zombie dragged itself forward by a foot, crossing the distance with a slowness that nearly drove Henry insane. It wasn't because he was eager for the zombie to get there – because he was _not at all_ eager for the zombie to get there – but because he couldn't stand the panic that shook him as he waited for the monster to finally arrive and deliver his doom. _If you're going to kill me, hurry up about it! _Impatience, mixed with fear, was eating away at him, making his thoughts blurry. With each step, the monster seemed to slow.

Finally – _finally_ – the monster was there. Henry swung wildly at it, hoping to do something, anything at all, that would damage it. The nail pierced its flesh, making it moan angrily. It continued to reach out for him, twisted and gnarled fingers trying to grab hold of his flesh. Henry cried out as the rotten tips of the zombie's fingers landed on his skin, digging into the flesh and yanking his arm forward. Henry swung again, catching the monster's face and jerking it backwards. Henry tried to pull himself away, but the zombie's grip did not relent.

Henry bashed the monster's face with the board again and, at the same time as the zombie released him, pulled his arm away with all of his might. Henry stumbled backwards, his board swinging in his hand. The nail raked down part of his left forearm and red blood filled the break in his skin. The zombie's moaning grew furious and was joined by many others. Zombies dotted up along the field, suddenly appearing where before Henry had never noticed them. They all wanted to kill him and he didn't even have a real weapon to defend himself with so they probably were going to succeed! The zombie lurched forward, reaching for his body but Henry scrambled backwards, abandoning the board in the grass. It wasn't going to do him much good anyway.

The zombie continued forward, still reaching, letting its fingers brush across his skin. Henry gasped, struggling not to vomit at the feeling. It made his stomach roll. It felt like any rotten thing felt, except instead of feeling the skin of a rotten apple, he felt the familiar texture of skin. Henry shoved himself back again, his shirt stretching and the collar pulling at his throat.

Henry twisted, pushing himself up and off the ground, stumbling away from the zombie. Almost as soon as he stood, though, something slammed into him, bowling him to the ground and rolling their bodies down a dip in the almost-flat land. He knew it was a zombie, its rotting flesh touching his own. Henry cried out, rocks and earth pounding his back and bruising his arms as he rolled to a stop. The zombie's arm was against his and Henry shoved it away from him, hands pushing at the monster's face, giving him enough time to jerk to his feet, backing away hastily.

Moans were all around him, making it impossible to locate each individual zombie. He whirled around, searching behind him for any more zombies, but they all were slowly working their way down the dip. He spun again so he could see the zombie that was on the ground only moments before and was devastated to find that it had already forced itself to its feet and was moving toward him with a speed that should not have belonged to something dead.

Henry searched frantically for any weapon to use when his devastation turned to almost overwhelming gratitude. A knife that had been embedded in the zombie's side had been knocked loose in their fall and lay on the ground, hilt facing Henry. He dived toward it at the same time the zombie dived toward him and his hand closed around the hilt. The zombie's mouth grazed over his arm and panic shot through Henry. He thrashed under the zombie, his knife slashing across the zombie's forehead. A black liquid poured from the wound, almost as if it was blood, and stained the front of Henry's shirt.

The liquid burned and Henry screamed, ripping at the fabric covering his chest while thrashing away from the zombie, who clamped down on Henry's shoulder, face nearing the flesh. It was going to get him and kill him and maybe eat him or the other zombies would catch up and he would be torn apart and then he would just be dead and it would be his fault because he was too slow and_ it was going to get him! _

The moaning rose, the zombies finally starting off toward him. He was going to die and no one was coming and he kept thrashing, bashing the zombie's face away from him with his fists. He felt the crunch of bone under his hand, but the zombie did not stop. He kicked and his foot connected with the zombie's torso, shoving its body off of him. The zombie's ragged nails ripped across Henry's flesh, breaking the skin as even more blood seeped from his arm. The moaning swelled, falling over him like a wave. The other monsters wouldn't be far behind.

Henry shoved himself up off the ground, his heart beating rapidly, each beat pounding in his temples. The zombie was already moving closer to him again and the panic finally took complete control of his actions, making him thrust out. Henry felt the sickening ease with which the knife pierced the creature's flesh.

It screamed, its face contorting into a mask of horror. The scream was unlike anything Henry had ever heard. It was sharp and shrill, shattering the moans of the other undead. They screamed with it, almost as if the pain of the one had been inflicted upon the others. The flesh over its cheekbones pulled taught, revealing holes in the skin and muscle. He could see the cavern of the zombie's mouth through the gap, as well as broken teeth snapping for him. Henry's voice joined the scream as he drew the knife back before plunging it into the zombie's chest cavity again and again.

Finally, with a swipe, he slashed across the zombie's throat. He felt the blade break through the spinal cord, but when he yanked back on the knife, he couldn't get it out. Black liquid tricked from the wound as he struggled to retrieve the knife and a droplet of the liquid splashed onto the back of Henry's hand. The boy screamed again, recoiling instantly. The skin where the liquid had fallen burned, just like his chest. He rubbed his hands on his jeans and, when he examined the wound, the skin around it was white, dark patches mottling the flesh just like the skin of a zombie.

Henry tore his gaze away from his hand just in time to watch the zombie slump to the ground, its head only half attached to its shoulders. The black liquid pooled around the cut, seeping into the earth. He paid no attention to it and looked over his shoulders. The zombies were close, so close, moving toward him as swiftly as they could. More fast-moving zombies, like the one he had just fought, had joined the herd and were leading it toward him, their moans loud and needy. Though his body was aching and he both wanted to run and collapse all at once, he mustered the energy to climb the slight hill to relative safety. They wouldn't stop chasing him until he was at the station, the scent of his blood drawing them closer. The blood was trickling down his forearm, running over his wrist down his fingers, dripping off his nails. He had to _move._

So he did. He pushed himself forward, cresting the hill as quickly as he could manage. The zombies were gaining. Their closeness, their speed, caused adrenaline to continue to pump through his body. That was the sole thing that kept him going; the need to run away, the need to flee. He stood on the edge, turned and looking toward the approaching threat, when something brushed his arm. Henry let out a shout, whirling around and blindly shoving whatever had touched him onto the ground. This earned him an irritated, "Umph." The sound was familiar, so achingly familiar.

"Ben?" Henry demanded, his wide-eyed gaze searching for the form of his brother. When he found it, he broke into a grin. "Ben! Oh, God, you're here! Thank God!" He extended his hand to his brother, who took it, and pulled the older boy upward before trapping him in a relieved hug.

"Nice to see you, too, Henry," Ben said, extracting himself from the other boy's grip. He was frowning at the mass of zombies collecting at the bottom of the hill, then frowned at the cut on Henry's hand and then frowned at the black stain on the chest of Henry's shirt. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you do this?" He gestured at the hoard.

Henry looked over his shoulder and jerked his head in a nod. "Yeah. Whatever. Let's get out of here."

Ben made a sound of agreement and the two boys ran across the field. Whenever Henry stepped on his left foot, pain lanced up his leg, working its way into his knee and hip. However, he didn't complain. He knew that every step was one more step away from the zombies. If he needed to, he would've flown.

And then he stumbled, tripping over his own feet and slamming to the ground. He took a choked breath, looking up to see Ben skidding to a stop. They were only meters away from the station. Ben should've been crossing the invisible barrier and getting himself to safety, but he was stopping and turning and running back to help him up. His brother weaved around the gravestones, stopping and extending a hand to help him up. Henry accepted the hand, standing slowly. His body screamed in protest, wanting him to lie down and die. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the aches and pains were much more prominent.

He tried to ignore them the best he could, but the pains forced him to acknowledge their existence. Moving killed. Straightening his back made his head spin. But Ben was still urging him forward, checking over their shoulders to make sure that the zombies weren't right on their tails. "Hurry up, Henry," he would say, pushing his brother around gravestones as he struggled to move. "We've got to move, Henry."

"I know, I know," Henry muttered, taking one step after the other. The longer he took, the more Ben checked for the monsters and the more he urged him forward. "Give me a second." And then he leaned against a gravestone, wiping the blood from his arm and smearing it over the cool stone. He was looking down, taking a deep breath, when a dark slip of paper caught his attention. He smiled slightly and asked, "Hey, Ben, did you find another ticket yet?"

Ben's eyes widened and he swore. "No, we haven't. You just get back to the station and I'll find one."

Henry's smile grew as he snatched the ticket from the base of the gravestone, nestled in amongst the overgrown grass. "Not a problem, then. I just found one."

Ben released a relieved breath as Henry looked up at him before muttering impatiently, "Great. Can we get moving now?"

Henry let out a groan of, "Fine," as he pushed himself off of the gravestone. Ben resumed his role of drill sergeant as they ran, calling out to Henry to run faster, to go quicker, to go around the gravestone that way, not the other. By the time they reached the station, Henry was afraid that his brother would start referring to him as a 'pansy'.

Henry pushed through the invisible barrier protecting the station, immediately leaning against one of the columns as soon as he was safe. He was gasping for air while his eyes squeezed shut tight against the pain coursing through his body. His eyes flew open when the girl commented, "So, you finally found him, huh? A little bit worse for wear, too."

He forced himself into an upright position, glaring at the girl. "Do you have any idea what I just went through? You don't know what happened to me. You didn't even come looking."

The girl glared back and stated bluntly, "My survival isn't tethered to yours. What happens to you doesn't matter to me. Is it supposed to?"

"Yes!" Henry said through gritted teeth, partially because she had angered him and partially against the pain. "It is! If it wasn't for Ben, you would have died in the mausoleum!"

Ben opened his mouth to say something, but the girl cut him off. "But you're not Ben, are you? You're Henry. You didn't save my life, so why should I stick my neck out for you?"

This made Henry fall silent. He didn't really have an answer, did he? Why should she risk herself for him? He wasn't doing any good anyway. He was a coward who was afraid of everything. What use was he to anyone? The girl smiled smugly, thinking she had won the argument when Ben contributed to their discussion.

"How dare you talk to my brother that way!" he snapped. "You should stick your neck out for him because of human decency, that's why! It's the whole reason why I helped you! And what right do you have to speak to anyone that way? Who do you think you are?"

"Brianna Young," she stated, her tone matter of fact. "That's who I am. Now, if you two are done with your little yelling fits, the train's coming in a few seconds and I kind of want to catch it."

Ben's hands clenched into fists and he looked like he wanted to punch the girl – Brianna, Henry reminded himself – in the face. Somehow he restrained himself, turning away from her and facing Henry. "Well, were to now?"

"No idea," Henry managed, squeezing his eyes shut again. Talking hurt too much, so he stopped.

Ben ran his fingers through his hair as he always did when he didn't know what to do, exhaling deeply. "That's great. We have nowhere to go and the train's coming." His tone was dripping sarcasm.

Brianna coughed suddenly, drawing attention to herself. "I have friends in the city that you guys could probably stay with while you figure out where you're going. They'd be cool with it."

The brothers just stared at her, wide-eyed. Finally, Henry managed to ask, "What's the catch?"

Brianna glared at him first, then at Ben. "Neither of you can say I don't stick my neck out for people, got it?"

The boys exchanged a glance, a silent understanding that they weren't going to get a better offer passing between them. Ben agreed. "Okay," he stated. "We won't. Just get us to the city alive."

She smiled, turning as the rattling of the approaching train grew in volume. "You've got a deal."

Before Ben or Henry could respond, the train was screeching to a stop at the station, the sound rising above the moans of the undead. And then there was a sharp hiss as the hatch-like door opened, smoke billowing around the entrance from the wheels of the train. Brianna stepped onto the train first, followed by Ben, and then Henry. He peered through the sudden lack of light, waiting for his pupils to dilate and enable him to see. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and he could make out the benches, the lights, the port-hole windows… They were alone in the train car, just the three of them. And then the ghostly conductor appeared and it became the three of them alone in the train car with a creepy ghost.

"Tickets, please," the conductor said in his monotone voice, watching them as they handed the three black tickets over. "Where to?"

Brianna looked back at the two of them once for clarification before announcing, "The Terminus."


End file.
